As if once again he knew what she was thinking, the Marquis rose and walked to one of the windows.
He pulled back the curtains and stood gazing out at the trees in Berkeley Square, their spring leaves turned silver in the moonlight.
Swiftly Idona climbed out of bed, crossed the room and opened the door.
Then she looked back.
“Goodnight, my Lord,” she said, “I am sorry – very sorry that I have done – something that you think is – wrong.”
Then before he could reply she ran as quickly as she could in her bare feet back into her own bedroom.
The fire was almost out and, as she snuggled down under the bedclothes, she found herself feeling again that strange unbelievable rapture that she had felt when the Marquis kissed her.
‘So that is being kissed,’ she thought. ‘Why did nobody tell me
